Vargas knew she would not stop crying, so he hit her a few more times and closed the bedroom door, leaving her to her tears.
He went out to get wood for the stove.
The snow howled outside. The stove warmed the cabin to a swelter. Vargas stripped to his undersuit as he drank himself insensible, got so drunk he felt neither the tiny legs of the fiddleback crawling up his leg nor its fangs in his scrotum.
In the morning as the fever took him and his legs turned black he begged her to help him.
She only smiled.